The Adventures of Texting Sherlock Holmes
by whomaniac
Summary: John and Sherlock texts, mini-adventures, etc.
1. Chapter 1

**John -SH. **

**JOHN. -SH**

**JOHHHHNNNNN - SHJAWWWWNNNNNN - SH. **

**Bloody hell, Sherlock! What! And why did you spell my name like that?! -JWI'm bored, John. -SH**

**What's new about that? I'm working, Sherlock, I can't just leave. -JW**

**I may have burned your new jumper. -SH**

**SHERLOCK! -JWJohn. -SH**

He sighs and rubs his forehead, frustrated. **'Alright. Give me a few minutes to finish up with this patient. I'll tell Sarah I am leaving early today. - JW'Also, we need some more milk, and I may or may not have ruined the kitchen table. Again. -SH**

**What did you do, Holmes? -JWBurned a hole in the table with acid… also, you don't want to use your favorite mug anymore, I used it as a measuring cup, ish. It's an experiment. Ongoing I might add. I need more milk to complete it. -SH**

**Then go get some. -JW**

**But if you're on your way home, you can stop and get some before you are home. -SH**

**Fine. I just have to ask though, why did you burn my jumper? -JW**

**Science, John. -SH**

The doctor didn't even reply to that one. He pocketed his phone as he threw on his coat, having already told Sarah he didn't feel well enough to keep working today. Watson stepped outside, a chilly breeze met him when he did. Making his way across the street, he ventured into the shop, grabbing some milk before heading back up to the counter. John dreaded to think about what he would see when he got back to 221B.

Sherlock lay on the couch, his fingers steeped together beneath his chin. He was in his blue robe, and hadn't been dressed all day. John stood in the doorway, staring at the chaos before him. "How…"

The table was utterly destroyed. A gaping hole in the middle of it, jagged edges, clearly some kind of combustible, acidic fluid had eaten its way through it. His jumper lay on the only intact part of the table, a large hole in the middle of it as well, and charred around the edges. The place reeked of chemicals.

Sherlock opened one eye and glanced over at him. "John!"

"What in the _hell_ have you been doing, Sherlock!"

"Did you get the milk, John! Brilliant, you did!" He sat up, walked over the coffee table, took the milk from him and went back to the kitchen, sitting at the ruined table. He grabbed John's best coffee mug and poured a hefty amount of the milk into it, soon after he grabbed a bottle, a chemical of some kind, and added it to the milk. John crooked an eyebrow. Sherlock happened to catch his look.

"The milk dilutes the concentrated chemicals. I'm seeing how long it takes the acid to work through certain surfaces. The acid itself naturally takes less time because it is highly concentrated. The milk slows it down of course, but I want precise measurements. Your jumper, being made of fabric of course was the fastest. It's becoming tedious now. I've run out of surfaces to try it on. And I'm almost out of acid. The table took more than I expected. The sink worked nicely, though."

"You burned a hole in the sink with acid!?" John flailed his hands. Unbelievable.

"It was an experiment, John."

"Of course. Isn't everything." He scoffed, slumping down into his arm chair, turning on the television.

Sherlock shrugged and went back to his work. "Thanks for the milk by the way, Watson."

John looked up, staring off. Had Sherlock just _thanked_ him for something? He shook his head. "Uh.. Yeah. No problem, Sherlock." Bloody hell, that was new.

Sherlock furrowed his brow at John. Suddenly his phone went off, signaling a text. "Oh goody! Lestrade has a case. Interesting to say the least. Only a seven though. You know my rule, John." He said.

John sighed. He almost hoped that Sherlock was becoming human from that last bit, but the condescending demand of him going to investigate the case changed that immediately. "Fine. I've no plans this evening anyhow."


	2. Chapter 2

~~~ Sherlock is at the flat, watching television. John is out. ~~~

"Oh come on! It was the mother! It's obvious! Look at her!" Sherlock threw his hands up in the air from where he was sitting in John's chair.

**Brother, answer your phone. **-MH

Sherlock glanced at his phone, intending to do the complete opposite.

**Sherlock. **-MH

He raised an eyebrow. He could see that his brother was becoming irritated by his short answers and hasty replies.

… -MH

Sherlock finally picked up his mobile, taking his time answering. **Hello, brother dear. **-MH

**Sherlock, did you take my umbrella? It seems to have gone missing, again. **-MH

**You probably left it on the cake tray when you cleared it of cake earlier, Mycroft. **-SH

**Don't make me tell Mummy about how you've been acting, Sherlock. -**MH

**Don't make me tell her you've been skimping on your diet then, Mycroft. **-SH

[**INCOMING CALL: Mycroft Holmes]**

Sherlock rolled his eyes and hit the mute button, ignoring the call.

**Sherlock, your brother is texting me about you not listening to him, why is he even complaining to me? **-JW

**Beats me. He's an idiot. A cake-eating, diet-skimping idiot. **-SH

He glanced over to the corner of his room where Mycroft's umbrella sat. He smirked as he recalled the events of his evening.

_Kitchen of the Diogenes club, the cake cart had just been taken to Mycroft's private office. The server wore a typical white smock and a white hat, his alabaster skin wasn't complimented by the uniform. His curly black locks were hidden beneath a paper hat. He smirked, threw the towel over his arm, and his glistening eyes searched the room until they fell upon the object in question: Mycroft's umbrella. Sherlock laughed, threw the hat into the corner of the room, and walked out, twirling the umbrella as he removed the smock to reveal his usual purple shirt. On the way out he grabbed his long black coat and wrapped his scarf about his pale neck with a short laugh. _

Sherlock's thoughts were brought back to 221B when he heard footsteps tromping up the steps to the flat. John walked into the door, throwing his coat down. "Evening, John."

"Your brother is furious you didn't answer. He's coming over first thing tomorrow morning."

Sherlock, glanced over to the corner again and laughed.

"Something funny?""No no. The case. It was the mother, wasn't it. Jealous of her kid's self-made fortune. So she killed him and took the money for herself. But didn't get far, seeing as how she fell out of a window… was pushed actually." John was about to speak and stumbled over his words, then stopped. "H-wait… you didn't even leave the flat. How did you figure that out!" Sherlock shrugged and tilted his head slightly before speaking.

"The mother. Clearly jealous that her homosexual child, something the mother already despised about her child, was a self made millionaire. The kid was greedy, so greedy he couldn't even stand to share with his own mother. Either poor parenting or he was just an idiot. Most likely the latter. Then again, the mother did kill her own kid so that's not saying much in the lines of A+ parenting. As soon as the young man was pronounced dead the mother swooped down, taking what was rightfully hers to claim.

But as soon as she got home she found some one else waiting for her. An angry boyfriend, wanting to claim revenge. So he used the spare key under the rug by the door to get into her flat and waited until she went to her room to sleep for the night. As she went over by the window to check the weather, she 'accidentally' fell out of the window and received three broken ribs, a cracked clavicle and a punctured lung, not to mention a bashed in skull. It's obvious, John." He hadn't moved his gaze from the television the entire time. He'd been watching NCIS before John arrived.

John stood there, dumbfounded. "Wow… never ceases to amaze me, Sherlock."

"Clearly." He picked up a glass and sipped it. Evening tea. John chuckled and sat down on the sofa, watching the credits roll past on the screen.

"So, what's this business with your brother, then?""He thinks I stole his umbrella. I told him he left it on the cake tray."

John laughed. "Sherlock, he's coming around tomorrow to fetch that umbrella. And no doubt he's going to be cross with you."

Holmes shrugged. "Maybe I should get him a welcome cake then. He prefers chocolate cake, I know, from what was on the cake tray earlier."

John closed his eyes and shook his head. "Jesus, Sherlock…"


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello to everyone who has been reading! Thanks for the reviews and the favorites! They mean a lot to me! Disclaimer: I own nothing. I wish I did, but I am just a poor teenager with a lack of writing skills and money. Good day!**

~ ~ The next morning ~ ~

Sherlock opened his bedroom door, wrapping the white bed sheet around himself. He yawned, ruffling his hair with one hand, the sheet falling open because of it. He blinked a few times, looking around the room. Still yawning, he pulled the sheet around himself and strolled into the sitting room, about to take his place in his chair but found it was occupied by no other than the British government, his brother Mycroft.

"Morning, brother." Mycroft smiled ever so slightly. Sherlock scoffed and sat down in the chair opposite him.

"What do you want, Mycroft?"

His older brother smirked slightly and raised his arm up over the chair, pulling his umbrella out from beneath it. "I think you know. It's obvious. Besides, you stealing my possessions gave me another excuse to talk to you. It's about Mummy. It seems she suspended your rights to your trust fund."

"Don't blame Mummy for things that you did, Mycroft. I know it was you. Mummy favors me."

He rolled his eyes. "Brother dear, would I really do that to you?"

"Of course. You're practically the British government. You'd do anything you please."

Mycroft allowed himself another sly smirk. "Very well then. If that was so obvious maybe you'll have more fun with this." Mycroft held out a case file. Sherlock glanced at the manila folder, but nothing more.

John walked into the room. "Morning girls, start the tea party without me?" He smirked. Mycroft did not look at all amused. Sherlock didn't even say anything.

"Mycroft wouldn't call it a party unless there is cake to be had, John." Sherlock smirked. John laughed. Mycroft scowled at him.

"Sherlock…" He shook the hand that held the folder. Holmes only sat there, holding his sheet. Mycroft frowned again and stood up, handing the folder to John.

"Think it over, Sherlock. You'll be seeing me again, quite soon."

The detective rolled his eyes. Mycroft smirked again. "Don't make me order you to solve this, brother."

Sherlock sat there. Mycroft waltzed out of the room, looking pleased with himself.

"Wonder how long it will take him to realize that's not his umbrella."


	4. Chapter 4

The consulting detective was lying on the couch, bored as always. John was at the clinic, working. Sherlock sighed deeply as he glanced around the room before the utter silence was broken by his text alert. He rolled his eyes and took his time reaching to the coffee table for his device. He sat up as he read the message on the screen. Mycroft… texting?

**Sherlock. I demand that you give me my umbrella back before I go through drastic measures. I. Want. It. Back. NOW. - MH**

Sherlock smirked. It had been three days since he last spoke to Mycroft about his most prized possession. And now he figures it out. He was getting slow in his old age. He grasped the phone in his long, slender fingers and tapped out a reply.

**Your grammar is terrible Mycroft. That many periods are not needed and makes reading your texts tedious. Stop it. Also, how'd the dentist go? Root canal all finished? -SH**

**You know the answer to that, else I wouldn't be texting you, brother. -MH**

**Obviously. Your threats are empty considering they are merely through texting. -SH**

**They won't be empty when I am through with this extremely painful procedure. -MH**

**You aren't receiving any sympathy from me, Mycroft. And you won't be talking for at least a few hours after the root canal, so I'll take my chances. -SH**

**Who said I was asking for sympathy, Sherlock? If I don't get my umbrella back, I am suspending your trust fund… permanently. -MH**

**We both know you won't do it, because I will just go to Mummy about your diet issues, Mycroft. -SH **Another smirk touched the detective's face as he sent the message.

…**. - MH **

**At a loss for words brother? That's certainly unlike you. -SH**

**Will you just give me my stuff back? Also, have you found any leads with that case I left you? -MH**

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He glanced at the umbrella lying on the table. **Very well. I'll be sure to send John over with a large chocolate cake as well. -SH **He completely ignored all attempts of Mycroft getting answers about the case he hadn't so much as glanced at. **But, you leave my money alone, and you apologize to Mummy for upsetting her. Or I will make sure you do. -SH**

**Are you threatening me, Sherlock? Really? -MH**

**Clearly I am, brother dear. Now do leave me alone. I am busy. -SH **

**Lying on the couch does not constitute as busy, Sherlock. -MH**

Sherlock shook his head and threw the phone back onto the table, the mobile hitting the surface with a soft thud. He leaned back into the arm of the couch, sighing deeply once more. His phone lit up with more texts, but he didn't so much as glance at them. He did however, pick up his phone.

**John, pick up a chocolate cake on the way home. -SH**

John was sitting in his office, no patient at the moment. He felt his phone go off and pulled it out of his pocket. What the hell?

**Do I want to know why? -JW**

**I am not on a case at the moment, and I am going to eat it in front of Mycroft. -SH **

After the final reply, Sherlock set his phone down and sat up again, picking up his violin. Grasping the bow in hand, he began to play. The harmony that emanated from the instrument drowned out the vibrating of an angry call from an older brother. Sure, he could have his stuff back. But certainly not right now. Sherlock was extremely busy after all. The detective smirked.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey everyone! This is more angst-filled, post-Reichenbach adventure. It's just a one-shot, what these were originally planned to be. Also, I am going to start doing this on a request basis. So review with ideas, and I'll see what I can do! Anywho... I wanted to add angst and feels! So enjoy! **

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Sherlock. 

**That is my name, John. I am aware. -** SH

**Your brother kidnapped me again. This is the fourth time this week. I swear if this has anything to do with you eating cake in front of him, I am going to kick your ass, Sherlock.**

**John, stop threatening me. We both know you'll never do anything, so just stop your pathetic attempts now. Secondly, he deserved that. And that was three weeks ago. **- SH

**Doesn't matter when it was, Sherlock. I am still blaming you for this. And he won't let me leave until I apologize for you. This isn't fair. Damn it, Sherlock. **

**John. You can leave. It's not as if he is holding you there against his will. **

_Hello, Sherlock. John seems rather angry today doesn't he? _[BLOCKED NUMBER]

**What have you done with John! Who are you! - **SH

_I think you know exactly who I am, Sherlock. St. Bart's. Three years ago. _

**Jim… let him go. This has nothing to do with him. **- SH

_This has everything to do with him, Sherlock. It's time you play the game. Or John suffers for you. _

**Fine. Just tell me where he is. **- SH

_Tsk, tsk, it's all part of the game, Sherlock. The warehouse on the other side of London. You know where. Go there. Now. _

Sherlock hated playing these games. He hated Moriarty, but John was in danger. He didn't even know how Jim was still alive, but he had John. And it was all Sherlock's fault.

Sherlock rushed outside, clambering into the nearest cab and telling them where to go. As he arrived at the warehouse, the lights suddenly went out. The building was pitch black, he listened, his hearing more acute now that he couldn't see. He pulled out his phone, finding a message there. _Knew you'd come and play, Sherly! Now, you have ten minutes to find John. Good luck. _

That's when the screaming started. Sherlock knew it was his friend doing it. He cringed but ran toward the sound. But then it sounded like it came from somewhere else, and three places at once. He didn't have time to go every direction. He had to choose, and if he didn't, all of the blame would be on him. He didn't know what would happen to John, but he immediately stopped thinking about it and rushed forward, stumbling in the darkness.

As he came to a door he knew John was behind, his phone went off. _Ooh, so close. But you're late, Sherlock. _

"NO! JOHN!" Sherlock kicked the door open, rushing inside with his gun drawn. "John!"

The lights were on in this room, and for a moment Sherlock had to shield his eyes. But when he had adjusted he looked around, finding John with a knife to his throat.

"Second chance, Sherlock. Moriarty wants to play some more. Five minutes to get out of here with him. And if you get out in time, John can live." The man said, obviously with a French accent. He took the knife away and shoved John forward. Sherlock grabbed him, half dragging him out of the room.

Sherlock ran back the way he came, kicking the door open in front of him. He pulled John along, rushing across the parking lot. He heard a laugh behind him and spun around, shoving John behind him just in time for the bullet to imbed itself in Sherlock's shoulder. He cried out and fell to the ground. He felt red-hot pain and then a numbing sensation. His vision went fuzzy. The last thing he heard was John shouting his name, a gun shot, and police sirens before he fell to the ground.

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Don't forget the reviews! Ideas are needed for these to continue! ;)


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